


Below The Wrecking Line

by Carmenghia



Category: Prospect (2018)
Genre: Bisexual Ezra, Bisexual Male Character, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenghia/pseuds/Carmenghia
Summary: Ezra expects little more from his contract than some easy money, a breathable planet, and perhaps some time to read. An unexpected visitor upends his peace where he’s made to face his past and determine his future.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/OC, Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Below The Wrecking Line

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to a tumblr mutual's HC, I realized I wasn’t alone in thinking about Bi!Ezra. I had a few notes and about 500 words of a rough draft but it was going nowhere until I saw her HC. So many, many thanks to her for reigniting this story in my brain. This will be 3 parts in total!

\--

Ezra drove the last stake into the earth, and stepped back to examine the whole of the tent. He always dropped in the same place, but the whims of the shift of the earth and the weather always left this particular spot a bit different each time he returned. Luckily, the ground was still relatively level, and he felt certain that it would require only minor adjustments during his time on the planet. The spot afforded him a view of the rolling grassland and beyond it, the fabled ocean that he had never quite had the chance to visit. 

The wind picked up slightly, and Ezra knew that soon, the planet would be plunged into its unusually dark nighttime. During his first trip, his body had fought against the circadian confusion, giving him such a neuralgia that the ensuing nausea had cost him three days of work. He had learned quickly that although the planet was kind in many ways, its darkness was unusual, the tilt of its axis and its larger moon often blocking out the night sky; rendering it the most pitch black he had ever seen. 

He quickly made his way into the tent, its insulated padding an improvement over the temperamental heater in the drop pod, which oft erred to broken, its economy easy on his credits but detrimental to his health. 

The tent was a necessary luxury, given that he expected to be on Saotome for at least two full moon cycles, the work slow, but not difficult. He had argued its worth to his employer who had paid for the structure herself. It was more than Ezra would have thought necessary, but he was not one to balk at the gift. The space afforded him so much room that he could completely unfurl his body onto a soft padded mattress and Ezra felt Kevva herself would be sated by its pillowy embrace. 

Compared to most jobs, this one always felt like an extended indulgence, a paid vacation with little worry, and a beautiful vista. He felt no guilt in the ease of it all, the balance of his life often swinging to the harsher employ of a malevolent contractor, or his own perilous attempts at seeking fortune through dubious means. 

The contract was acquired quite by accident; Ezra had made acquaintance with Xolica as she passed through Cesuna’s main hub; he on a brief respite after a long tour on the Green; she on her way back to Alari, where she crafted decadent skin oil for the rich and famous of the planet. 

He had seen her at the transit cafe, her bright smile like a tracer beacon that he could not tear his eyes away from. She had taken to his face and his Mallen streak, equally flirtatious and hungry. They had whispered salacious words over deca-noirs, Ezra’s blood quickly brought to a boil after a long time on the Fringe with just himself to draw pleasure from. 

Their coupling was brief but decadent, and Ezra had reveled in the sparkle her skin made, the glow almost bioluminescent in the dark as they made love in her hotel room. It was a relief to have contact with another human being, to feel the touch, the wetness and the desire of another and to know he was still desired, even if he wasn’t always a good man. The Fringe messed with your mind, and forced your hands in ways that distorted the line between right and wrong. For a brief moment, he had felt a semblance of calm and peace in the afterglow, the satiety making him feel secure, however ephemeral the feeling had been. 

It was in the wee hours of idle post-coital chatter that she had mentioned her predicament. Her main harvester had retired, settling down for an easier life with his new wife and she had no one to procure the main ingredient to her signature product. Ezra had loyally provided her a steady stream of material for her business ever since, even though their amorous adventures had ceased. 

Saotome was one of the few planets known for an abundance of wild Ionicera. The sweet flowers were easily foraged and hearty in transport, but the trip put off many would-be harvesters. Its distance, and the proximity to the Halan region made it less than attractive, even though the Halans hadn’t breached the neutral zone in at least five years. Many of his kind were superstitious and Ezra took advantage of their irrational intimidation to reap his reward. 

He found the planet to be pleasant; with no need for protection; the air was as pure as any habited world he had encountered. He loved the harsh cold nights and the mornings that broke through with the blazing heat of two pink suns; the contrast never failing to invigorate him. And even though he’d only performed this task over the last three years, it was something he had come to account for in his contracts; a needed break from the Green Moon, which somehow was even worse than the ore mines of Valdar. The aches in his knees and the wheeze in his lungs told him that his time was coming to find more jobs like this, should he want to see his latter days. 

With no need for others, he allowed himself to lie in repose, and spent the evenings with his books or when it moved him, in his own journal, the hum of music from his holotrac lulling him into a comfortable sleep. He’d recently found an old recording on a stereo-pak of Rita Chao and had insisted the shopkeeper convert it to holo before his travels commenced. He had listened to her when he was younger, but had lost his cassette to the ages, and the return of her voice had gladly haunted him since. 

It had also been a favorite of his former partner; a man he had been paired with through happenstance that Ezra came to call a friend. He had met him during his first rotation on Valdar, when Ezra was a fresh-faced prospector who was willing to risk more to get the taaffeite out of the earth, its scarcity creating untold wealth for their contractor and mere cete-points for him. 

They had both been sent out to the deep pit, as the old-timers called it, where the largest gems were to be found. Ezra, with no fear of anything, had barreled forth, at first not noticing his partner’s laggard behavior. He had come to find that the man that was supposed to work beside him was terribly afraid of both the dark and cramped spaces.

Ezra had calmly asked him why he had signed up for such work if he knew they’d be in the ore mines, tamping down the frustration at being stuck with an albatross. When his partner had explained the circumstances, Ezra had softened, not immune to the cruelty of youth and its inimitable scars. 

As if soothing a scared animal just out of a trap, Ezra had stood by the entrance, his headlamp illuminating the darkness. He had gone down first, to survey exactly what the tunnel had in store for them, conscious now of the tighter spaces and the pitch black nothingness. 

They had made it work, taking much longer than they should have, but Ezra had remained patient in his steady guidance. The narrow passageway barely left much room for them to walk together, but they managed until they had reached the much larger open cavern. His partner had relaxed then, the space above allowing him to breathe a little easier, and they were able to work. Ezra found that his partner would even laugh a bit at his attempt at humor, the man’s body shaking gently after a particularly amusing quip, breaking up the monotony as they dug into the earth with measured hands. 

However, The trip back through the passage had been harrowing, his partner’s mask fogging up, the large whooshes of anxiety-riddled breath causing confusion and fear as Ezra had held onto him, guiding him slowly step-by-step up to the surface, bearing the weight of the man that would come to complicate his life in more ways than one. 

In the makeshift barracks, his partner had all but collapsed into a heap, his chest heaving from the exertion and stress as he wrenched off his helmet and gear, barely able to contain his shaking body, as his face settled into a hard and distant stare. 

Ezra had not been a man to be tender toward many. He had survived so far through wit and skill and the inclination to induce fear in his foes, but there was something about his partner in that moment that had roused a protectiveness that he hadn’t known he possessed. 

He had remembered the moments like pieces of broken film from a life he wasn’t sure he lived.

_Guiding him into the shower, warm water hitting Ezra’s face as he steadied him until he felt certain his partner was safe; the run and rush to the mess hall for the bit of food they did have, murmured words encouraging his partner to eat. The feeling of the warmth of the blanket pulled over his partner, the corners catching Ezra’s own skin. The trembling of the man next to him, eyes closed and breath shallow._

It had been Ezra’s soft words that awakened something that made his partner reach out to touch him. That touch had been tentative and unsure, but Ezra had taken his partner’s hand solidly in his own, the trembling not ceasing until he had moved closer, embracing the man in his arms fully. 

What came after was unexpected but not unwelcome. Ezra had not been immune to the charms of both men and women, and his partner was handsome, his lips sure and soft, and his body graceful. 

He had done his best to wrest the fear out of the man and replace it with reverence, to kiss and caress the places on his body that had been hurt, to show how covetous and tender hands could be on hips and legs and cock - his desire only intensifying as each of their couplings grew hungrier, often finding himself pressing the man against a rock to taste him, not able to wait until the darker hours of the day to find release. It was a heady and intoxicating dalliance, one that Ezra drowned in, wholly. 

They had worked side-by-side for almost a year, the intimacy never wavering, and Ezra had felt that perhaps it was love, or something like it that continued to draw them into a tighter circle, their connection growing deeper, his partner’s anxiety lessening over time until the scars of his past were faded almost completely. 

When the contract was over, there was a tension that shot through Ezra as he proposed their next move, the implication that perhaps they would stay together despite the difficulty of their work, the tendency of floaters to always be looking out for themselves; never satisfied, always chasing the next big rush. 

Unbeknownst to him, his partner had already signed on to take a job elsewhere; the promise of bigger and better payouts than he ever heard of. Ezra had quickly agreed to go with him, only to find that the crew manifest was full. His partner had never asked him to join.

It had been a rare moment in his life that his words had failed him. For years afterward, he pondered what had happened. Was it betrayal or naïveté that the man he had grown to love chose to leave without him? 

Ezra had covered up the gnawing hurt with nonchalance, quickly finding something of his own to grab onto. Though he had resisted the Green Moon and its toxic air, he succumbed to the desire to make his own wealth with aurelac despite his misgivings about the rush of prospectors, some less schooled in the proper etiquette of the Fringe. He had in years since grown hardened to the idea of intimacy, though not the need for release. And while he had found many willing lovers, he had learned to allow feelings to be temporal, his mind clear every time he parted, the allure of velvet flesh and wild nights memories rather than encumbrances. 

But even now, he thought of the man often, despite his hardened heart. It was not unlike reopening the jagged edge of a healing scar over and over. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but in private, he couldn’t help pull at the craggy pieces in hopes that it would eventually smooth over. 

And in those blessed moments of quiet that were rarely found, he would find himself lost back in that bunk, the memories of tender hands and soft lips, with its whispered promises, yielding fruit in his lonely ragged strokes and eventual release. 

While Ezra had managed to escape relatively unscathed in the time since, he considered that love his greatest unhealed wound. He kept the scrap of paper that singled his partner’s call sign, but some things were meant to be of a time and a place, and Ezra knew enough to know that the paper was a talisman to soothe, but never to truly invoke. 

And yet still, he traveled with it always, a hairshirt that reminded him that tenderness was ever rarely rewarded, and it was dangerous to think otherwise. 

He rummaged through his pack, and finding the familiar zip lining, he ran the worn paper between his thumb and fingers, a sigh escaping into the private walls of the tent. He carefully placed the paper back in its place, securing it back in its secret coffer. 

How such a simple song could spark the most wearying memory he would never understand, but he still loved her voice more than the pain of his lovelorn past. 

Stilling the trac momentarily, he looked at the chronometer, having set it right as he had landed. By his calculation, the long moon cycle would start with the setting of the suns, perfect timing for him to get ready for the harvest. The seventy-two hours of dark gave way to almost eighteen hours of sunlight each day, until the planet was plunged back into darkness after a fortnight. It allowed him to work on his own whims. He usually started from the farthest point the Ionicera grew in the brush, so that when he was weary at the end of the harvest, he was also closer to his bed. 

With everything set, and nothing left to do, he stretched his weary body out in his sleeping area, its walls having even more padding to keep the chill out, a retinue of new books welcome companions. Clicking on the Luxflow light, he perused his library. The jewel of the well-worn bunch was a particular oddity, an Earth novel, found wedged between the newest authors from various re-populated worlds. 

Ezra found comfort in finding these old relics, a peek into a world that he never experienced but nevertheless had a unique fondness for. The shopkeeper had specifically recommended the book he was holding, telling him that the author was a “man ahead of his time”. 

While he wasn’t so sure about that, he felt fortunate to be able to turn the pages of a book that was new to his eyes, his mind stilled for the moments he could escape into the pages, the worry of life temporarily muted. 

He barely noticed as the suns set, his mind alight with the turmoil and vicissitudes of the class wars of his book’s characters, as the planet sunk into overwhelming darkness. 

\--

 _Just a bit further._ The air was heavy and cold, a dampness curling around him with each labored step as he tried to get his mind and his body to work together. His feet were like leadened weight, each step harder than the last. 

Where was he? Saotome. Yes. That was it. He detached his pod from the freighter after he had cleared customs, the pod dropped. But what happened next. The pod dropped...dropped and dropped and then...

_Shit. What happened after. There was an after... There was..._

_Am I dead?_

_Focus._ Everything was just out of reach, doubled as he tried to rest on a tree that wasn’t there, the sky growing darker by the minute. 

Why couldn’t he find his camp? Yes. He had a camp. He had set up his tent. He had gotten out his instruments. He was here… why was here again? He had stepped out only to take a brief set of photos for his records, what photos? The water...the Vola. The ocean. 

_I am here for the ocean._

His head was coated in a sticky wetness, matting itself into his hair, sweat and cold air making it tacky against his skin. He rubbed his head, the substance coating his fingers as he rubbed them together. 

He was shivering and loose, his body swaying despite his protestations. 

_Stay up. Blood. I think it’s blood. Delirium is setting in._

He had been taking pictures, leaning back to capture something, and then…

_I fell. I know I fell. It had been uneven. I was tired...I fell and then..._

He knows he awoke on the soft and short fauna of the seaside. He knows…

_Cold...so cold. Perhaps Hypothermia. Keep walking, keep moving. It keeps the blood moving..._

His eyes focused on something. After all this wandering.

 _It’s my camp. My camp. I’m here to study.._

He sees a drop pod. It must be his, even though it looks smaller. 

His hands steady on its surface. It’s real. He hits it over and over, his fingers scratching at the metal. He laughs, a wail that breaks through the darkness. Joy. 

_I’m not dead._

A light. 

_Kevva provides._

He wants to cry. He’s back. He can sleep, no he _needs_ to sleep. There is pain, and dizziness, his stomach a whirling mess as nausea seeps into every pulsing vein of his weakened body.

_Where is the ocean?_

The light is moving and he tells himself it's his eyes. It must be his eyes. The light grows closer to him, muffled sounds, his ears hurt too much, his mouth, too cottony to speak.

_Ahhh, it’s… loud. It can’t be. Another person. I know, I know those words, but I can’t…_

Through the haze, the unmistakable sound of a gun drawing power.

_I’m not a threat. I’m… a man… I’m here to see the ocean._

There is a glint of light pointed at his eyes, so sharp he weakly raises his arm to shield himself, cowered in subservience. 

_Nononononononono..._

“Please!” He managed to wrangle out, briefly standing straight up, his eyes wide in surprise as he was suddenly plunged into darkness. 

\--

Ezra drew back his gun, unfired, as he saw the man, and it was certainly a man, falling into the brush near his drop pod. It was a rather unceremonious end to a potentially interesting standoff. 

He had been deep in the grip of Hypnos’ spell when he heard the clang against his pod and then the wail, the sound too guttural and deep to be any of the native species, his body hyper-aware that a defensive position needed to be taken if he were to be able to spend the rest of his night in some semblance of quietude. 

When he emerged from the tent, his headlamp affixed, he was shocked to see the figure of a man before him, quite confused and ill clothed. Clearly, the surprise of seeing another human and the chill of the night air must have rendered the man so overcome that he had simply fainted. The fresh cut on the stranger’s forehead and the worsening goose egg blooming on his crown may have also lent to his current predicament. 

“Hmph.” He shook his head and pursed his lips. Aware of the brisk chill in the air, he approached the man quickly, cautiously keeping his gun at the ready should this be an elaborate ruse. 

“Kevva help me.” He muttered as he carefully lifted the man by his arms, and made his way to the tent, his labored grunts echoing in the night. Granting the passed out man the only comfort he had, he laid him on the small mattress, and threw a solar blanket over him as a gesture of goodwill. He clicked on the Luxflow, and saw the stranger’s holophone had fallen out of his pocket, the screen black. 

Zipping the tent flap tightly, Ezra examined his would-be assailant. He was well-groomed, neatly dressed, and had the visage of someone of a similar age to him, though with far less weather. He was certainly easy on the eyes, Ezra conceded. 

He didn’t carry the look or the swagger of a prospector or a harvester, no weapons and no tools, save for a small pack that seemed to contain a field notebook with calculations and drawings that Ezra didn’t recognize, random trinkets and a pair of glasses. The man certainly seemed like no threat to him, but appearances were often deceiving, as Ezra could attest to. He could charm a devil out of his pitchfork and turn it back on him should the situation require it and he wouldn’t put it past another to do the same. 

Ezra knew sleep was not the balm of the soul for a concussion, but the man’s even breathing and inability to fully rouse even with a lamp on was not something he could worry himself with at the moment. Satisfied that the man was fully asleep, he quickly retreated toward the pod to grab what medical supplies he had with him, bringing the full complement to the tent. 

Doing his best to clean the matted blood, he finally saw the extent of the thick cut, splitting the man’s forehead like a wily canyon. On a near-world, this sort of injury would be given hydroplast, but all Ezra had were butterfly clasps and batum. It would have to do. 

Even through Ezra’s unpracticed ministrations, the man below never flinched or moved. His deep breathing was constant and steady, the loud exhales rattling through the tent as Ezra carefully moved his soft hair out of the way to attach the bandages to his forehead. 

Satisfied that he had done more than enough, he sat back, his gun close, as he palmed the man’s holophone. It had run out of energy so there were no answers to be found from it until he had sufficiently charged it back to life. He dropped it on his sole electromat, and wondered if he'd be able to peruse the contents of it before his guest awoke. And if Ezra was truthful, he was more than curious to see one up close, having never even so much seen one in person, let alone one that was actually functional. Obviously, the man had some stature, if he was able to afford such a device and it gave Ezra some idea that the man may be somewhat comfortable. It did not, however, elucidate any such reasons for his presence on Saotome. 

By the chronometer, it would technically be morning soon, and while he didn’t sleep as much as he wished, it was more than adequate given the circumstances. 

He had not accounted for this particular wrinkle in his time, nor was he enamored with the thought that he may have to take care of this potentially meddling transient, despite his ability to do so. 

It was the nature of his work that led him to the places where few men were brave enough to travel, let alone act. It wasn’t something that came naturally, but learned through harsh lessons of needed survival. Too many times Ezra had found himself on the wrong end of another’s ire. Kismet often saved him and dogged fortitude allowed him to pull the trigger when necessary, allowing him to survive to see his fourth decade, despite so many years floating around the Fringe. 

And yet, there was an air of benevolence about the man laying in situ on his mattress that made him want to believe there was some divine reason for his presence on the planet; one that Ezra might be willing to accept as a truth should the man make it through the next few hours on his own accord. He was a killer after all, but he wasn’t a fool. 

\--

The rustling of the blanket alerted Ezra to the stranger’s awakening; Ezra hadn’t slept a wink, his need to remain vigilant overwhelming his need to rest. He had acquiesced slightly as he got bored of staring at the motionless sleeping figure and picked up where he left off with his Earth novel. He had been pleased with himself at his significant progress through the winding narrative and had just gotten to the denouement, quite satisfied that the protagonist had made such a bold choice. 

“Where am I?” The voice was dry and shaky, a hint of confusion still evident in the tone. 

Ezra kept his gun level, his eyes twinkling as he leaned forward. “Do you mean, what zone, planet, or perhaps whose tent you are in, gentle man?”

The man in front of him reached up toward his head, and Ezra could tell that the gnarly knot created greater discomfort that he had anticipated. “A tree branch...wait..at least I think so. It’s not all clear…”

Ezra felt a bit chagrined at making light of the man’s situation. He was obviously confused, so much so that he barely registered that Ezra had a weapon pointed directly at him.

“Let me illuminate you with what I do know.” Ezra paused and craned his neck a bit, his eyes steady on the stranger. “You made your presence known by what I assume now to be your addled body falling onto my pod, creating a sound not unlike a horde of in-heat channel rats ready to rut against a queen.”

“Channel rats?” The man blinked, his eyes seemingly unable to focus even with the light.

Ezra held up his finger, his head quirking to one side as he continued. “Yes, the sound is quite unmistakable and yet, you were able to recreate it with your own body. I found it quite impressive, actually.”

“Look, I’m…” Ezra cut the man off again, a measured smile to show that he meant business. 

“Please, do let me finish. As I was recalling, the cacophony of sound roused me out of my comfortable and dare I say _agreeable_ slumber. Since Saotome is not known to provide a blanket of stars for guidance, I strapped on a headlamp to enhalo my humble camp site. 

When I attempted to converse with you by way of my gun, you passed out in quite an inelegant heap. Being a kind and magnanimous person, I placed you here in my tent to convalesce, despite my better judgement to leave you out in the cold.”

The injured man blinked several times again. Ezra assumed he was trying to adjust to his surroundings. He tried not to gaze at the man too intensely, the deep color of the man’s eyes creating a memorizing glow each time they opened.

“Have you seen my glasses?” 

Ezra chuckled at the absurdity of such a question when the man should be more concerned with the gun that could wrest his life from his body in an instant. 

“Those have mercifully been spared any damage, despite your condition. Understand that I did root around in your belongings, for my own safety.” Ezra motioned with the end of the gun to the corner to show that the pack was safe. “I do find it quite strange that you seem unperturbed by a deadly weapon pointed in your general vicinity. Are you not at all concerned for your own welfare? It is quite peculiar, and by my estimation, foolhardy to ignore the situation you find yourself in.”

“Look...I’m just a professor. I’m not here to harm anyone.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A learned man. Of what?”

The prone man tried to sit up more, the pain obvious as he winced and slunk back down. “Do you have anything for pain? It’s...it’s hard to talk when my head is throbbing like this. You have to admit, it’s not...conducive to any kind of real conversation.”

Ezra’s lips pursed. The man did have a point.

“You are quite the oddity, Professor. But I do concede you are correct. Neuralgias are a challenge even in the best of conditions. I do have something for you, but only if you do not fall back asleep. I cannot have your perish in my camp in such a manner, as I would be forced to leave your body to the earthen floor to ravage you slowly.”

The man smiled slightly, the hint of two dimples forming on either side of the man’s lips, and although Ezra’s face was impassive, he wondered if he could get the stranger to smile even more before he returned to wherever he was meant to be. 

“Yes, that would be a tragedy, and I’d hate to inconvenience you in such a way.”

Ezra nodded. “I am glad we can come to such an agreement. There are durmorols in the field kit.” 

With the gun still solidly at his side, Ezra moved quickly and tossed the container over, with a canteen. He may have the upper hand, but he wasn’t cruel. 

The professor sighed in relief as he popped the medicine, a trickle of water escaping down his chin. Ezra could see the immediate relief of the fast-acting analgesic cross over the man’s face, his brow relaxing as he slumped back onto the mattress. 

“Forgot how fast those could work.” The man tried to sit up fully, his posture still unsteady but with more strength than before. As he finally rose from his horizontal position, Ezra could see the man fully, his sturdy frame and broad shoulders cutting quite the impression.

“They are one of a prospector’s best friends in times of need, that’s for sure.” Ezra conceded.

“Listen, my friend…” The man gestured slightly, his palm upright, as if in acquiesce. 

Ezra stilled. “Now there is a word I’ve not heard used to articulate one’s relationship to my personage in a long time.” He paused as he leveled the gun, steadily pointing it just to the right of the stranger’s face. “Friendship is earned, and while I would like to call you a friend, you are, at this moment, a mystery.”

“I didn’t mean…” The man’s face fell slightly, and Ezra’s eyes widened that such a turn of phrase would upset the man so. 

Ezra grinned and put the gun down. “That being said, I _do_ like a good mystery. So please enlighten me, Professor; why _are_ you on Saotome?”

\--


End file.
